


Homeward

by Aurënfaie (Aurenfaie)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bisexuality, Cheating, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Drunkenness, F/M, Homophobia, Human Trafficking, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-27 05:46:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5036158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurenfaie/pseuds/Aur%C3%ABnfaie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke thinks he’s got the easy life now that he and Fenris are finally settling down. He should really know better. The past comes roaring back and nothing will quite be the same again.</p><p>Modern semi-domestic AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Autumn First

**Author's Note:**

> This is way different than anything else I've done so far, but everyone needs their terrible modern AU. 
> 
> I have a basic outline plotted out, but I can't promise it will go the way I planned. For now, I'm predicting a lot of angst and fluff, and definitely some smut. On that note, I'm currently planning for this to eventually turn into at least casual Fenhanders, so keep that in mind. 
> 
> These first few chapters may be a little slow, but there will be a legitimate plot at some point! Again, shout out to the ever lovely [unwizard](http://archiveofourown.org/users/unwizard)! Thanks for listening to me whine!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Autumn descends on London.

“It’s technically been autumn for weeks, Hawke.” Fenris’ voice is dark and rough, honey sweet on Hawke’s ears. His mixed accent has faded over the years spent in London, but it still catches on certain words and moods.

“I know, I know. But--” Hawke slams the car door shut and keys jingle in his hand as he waves his arms in the air, “It’s getting cold finally!”

To demonstrate, he pulls on his layers of flannel and sweater, all comfortable and well worn. His clothing is entirely covered with short brown hair, which Fenris makes a quick attempt to sweep away.

“Then why is the dog still shedding?” Fenris asks, picking fur away from Hawke’s red plaid. Even if he sounds stern, Hawke can see a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. It’s gone as soon as he spots it though. Green eyes narrow under dark brows, accusing him. “Were you rolling on the floor again?” There’s dust smeared across Hawke’s front, and enough hair to make a new dog. There is no point in lying.

“Carver wanted to wrestle.”

“Carver...the dog Carver, not your brother.” Hawke can tell he’s about to get another earful about what poor planning it was to name the dog after his brother. He cuts it off with a quick kiss to the tip of Fenris’ nose.

“Yes, and he has nothing to do with boots, Fenris. You’re going outside this winter if I have to carry you, and it would be nice to be able to set you down on the ground.” If he talks fast enough, Fenris can’t respond and that means he wins. His arm hooks around Fenris’ knit clothed waist. There’s something sweet about Fenris’ love of his old sweaters, and that he even wears them in public. The one he’s in now found its way into Hawke’s closet one Christmas in college, and has since been requisitioned by Fenris. Grey white and red pattern through the stitches, forming diamonds and dots in lines across the chest and down the arms. The sleeves are so worn that Fenris can stick his thumbs through holes in the cuffs.

The distraction seems to have worked. Fenris snorts and lets himself smile. “A waste of money. Buy me a bottle of [Damilano Barolo](http://www.wine.com/v6/Damilano-Barolo-Lecinquevigne-2010/wine/132719/Detail.aspx) instead.” Since running out of wine from their housewarming party, Fenris has been relegated to whatever cheap bottles he can find at the corner store. His expensive tastes have cheapened considerably, Hawke notes, if he’s asking for wine that costs less than £50.

“Wine won’t keep you warm in--” Hawke stops and groans. “Alright, so it will keep you a little warm. But do you know what else keeps you warm? Friendship. Friends that you can see in winter if you go outside.” Fenris grunts and frowns. “Friends who happen to be Varric with a full bar in his loft.” Fenris’ lips twist pensively.

“For Varric’s parties only.” All the dozen or so likely to take place in the few cold months. “And we drive.” Varric only lives a few stops away on the Tube, but if that’s what it takes to have a social life this winter, Hawke will make that compromise.

“And black.”

 

* * *

 

The boots Fenris chooses aren’t ideal for real snow, but they’ll do for London. They’re black waterproofed leather, as requested, with mustard yellow laces and thick cream colored soles. Hawke thinks they’re actually more work boots than anything else, but at least they are heavier than Fenris’ usual footwear and might keep him from getting frostbite. If Hawke can convince him that socks are to his benefit, then the boots might actually do him some good. A fight for another day, perhaps.

As it stands, Hawke is happy to play good boyfriend and carry the bag. He does bicep curls with it, hefting it like a dumbbell and showing off his muscles through layers of fabric. Fenris is not impressed. They both know that even with his compact frame, Fenris can lift him off the ground. Fenris huffs a laugh and reaches for the bag, but Hawke will have nothing of it. He rolls up onto the tips of his toes and dangles it far overhead. At home, Fenris might attempt to climb him, but in public he simply rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Coffee?” Fenris asks, gesturing to the Starbucks up the street.

“Only if you’re treating.” They opened a joint bank account a few months ago for this sort of thing, but it’s the thought that counts. Hawke pulls open the door for Fenris, who arches a brow at his chivalry, and is immediately swept up in the seasonal decor. He wants to point and whisper that he was right about autumn, but stops short when he spots the pastel pumpkins lining the menu board. “I want one of those pumpkin spice lattes!”

“Then you’re coming up to the counter with me.”

“Are you embarrassed by me?” Hawke teases, hand on Fenris’ back as he guides him toward the register.

“I’ll be more embarrassed when you bounce off the walls. The lattes here are all sugar.” He wants to protest, but Fenris is right. They’ve known each other for six years. Fenris has seen plenty of Hawke’s sugar jitters, and yet he still lets him order drinks like this. That must be love.

“Small flat white, big...pumpkin latte,” Fenris orders while fishing his phone out of his back pocket. He shoots Hawke a look and receives a grin in return.

“ _Tall_ flat white and a _venti_ pumpkin spice latte,” the barista chirps back. Fenris blinks at her and taps his phone against the mobile reader, not caring in the slightest for the coffee shop’s sad attempts at Italian authenticity.

Drinks in hand, they settle at a small table near the window. Even with the chill, it’s sunny out. The leaves haven’t started to change just yet, but autumn is in the air.

Hawke tucks the shoe bag between his feet and watches as Fenris awkwardly crosses his legs to avoid pulling his feet up onto the seat. In his time in London, Fenris has picked up enough bad habits that he now tries to break them. He pulls his sleeves down over his hands and shifts in his seat.

“I have news,” Fenris says. His coffee seems very interesting all of a sudden. He seems to shrink under Hawke’s gaze, as he tends to do whenever he’s made to talk about difficult subjects. The shrinking his better than the biting anger Hawke remembers from when they first met, but it’s still unnerving to watch.

“About?”

“About Varania.”

It takes him a moment to place the name. He’s heard plenty about Fenris’ life as a victim of human trafficking. He knew the story before he even met Fenris. The more sordid details came later, after they’d dated and broken up once. Hawke thinks Fenris still keeps some of the darker parts to himself. As guilty as he feels, he’s almost grateful for that fact. What he does know is enough to make his skin crawl and inspire rage for injustice of it all. He does his best to focus on the life they live now. Fenris holds onto enough hatred for the both of them.

“Varania.” Hawke rubs his beard. “The sister Hadriana mentioned in her plea deal?” He’s not sure he likes where this is going.

Early in their relationship, he and Fenris had made something of a hobby of guessing where Fenris was originally from. Because of a head injury sustained in Danarius’ care, Fenris had few details of his life before slavery. He has memories of being home, a few memories of a light skinned girl, but nothing that could illuminate a specific country. Only by working their way through the a series of documentaries about the Middle East and North Africa did they find that Fenris could _understand_ Turkish. They could think of no other reason Fenris would know the language, and so assumed they’d found their answer.

Then Hadriana was picked up Interpol and blew them out of the water with her revelations about Fenris’ life. That such a cruel woman knew far more about Fenris’ life before was a slap in the face, but he was hungry for information about himself. They were at her mercy, and short of bringing in a strongly connected politician in from Italy, no one else knew anything useful.

In addition to confirming that Fenris was originally from a rural coastal village in Turkey, she gave him knowledge of his sister living in Konya.

“Yes. They...found her. Alive. Not in Konya, but Fethiye.” Fenris takes a deep breath, looking shaken now that the information is out. “She’s a housekeeper, but she’s free.” He’d confided to Hawke that the thought of his only known family living through what he did kept him up at night. This must be quite the relief for him. “She lives in an apartment next to an internet cafe.”

Fenris wants to know if his sister looked for him, Hawke realizes.His own siblings would live in that internet cafe and search for him every day.

Hawke is privately worried that Fenris’ own family sold him into slavery. Hadriana couldn’t confirm how Danarius came upon him, as she became his assistant some time later, but Hawke has heard horror stories about parents turning on their children in desperation. Fenris is the one who told him those stories.

“Hadriana wasn’t lying. That’s a bit surprising.” He bites the lip of his coffee lid. “So what now?”

Fenris curls a hand in front of his mouth and hunches up his shoulders. “Now nothing. I’ve…” He hesitates and lets his hand fall flat on the table. “I’ve sent her letter. One of the volunteers in Ankara promised to deliver it to her.” Instead of remaining still on the table, Fenris’ hands wring together. “I sent a picture of us.”

So that’s why he’s so nervous, Hawke thinks. Or at least part of why he’s nervous. With grey-white hair and intricate scar-like tattoos spanning his entire body, Fenris isn’t exactly normal looking by western standards, let alone those of a conservative village in the Middle East. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that he generally tries to cover as many of the tattoos as possible without drawing attention to himself. The hair is another story. It’s still dark in some places, but the light strands cover much of his head. He could dye it all to be dark, but Fenris seems less concerned with the color than the tattoos. At least his white hair is natural, caused by some mix of stress, genetics, and general poor nutrition in his younger days. That’s what Anders suggests happened anyway. Fenris’ memories are a little unclear about when he started going grey.  

Oh. And Hawke’s not sure how well the whole ‘being in a committed relationship with another man’ bit will go over there. “Did you tell her who I am?”

“I said you were my friend.” Fenris looks a little guilty, but he understands. Fenris’ own internalized homophobia is a struggle to overcome, and changing a nation isn’t exactly going to happen with one letter. “If she responds, I’ll explain.”

“I won’t make you tell her anything. It’s different there, and it’s not like a little white lie is going to hurt her.” Hawke reaches across the table and places his hand over Fenris’ smaller ones. “And I am your friend.” It would be a sweet moment if Hawke could just keep his shit eating grin to himself. “With benefits. Really good benefits.”

 

* * *

 

Fenris gives up on his cold coffee and Hawke dumps honey in it until it’s drinkable. He suggests they walk the few blocks to Merrill’s shop and bring her cookies from the coffeeshop. They need new candles anyway, after Hawke left them burning all night left a waxy mess all over the tables.

The temperature may have dropped, but it’s still warm enough out that Fenris’ thin shoes are comfortable, and there is no rain to hustle them along. It’s been a while since they had the free time to take a leisurely stroll anyway. Hawke welcomes Fenris’ slender hand in his and swings their arms lightly as they walk.

Things have calmed a little since their talk in Starbucks, even if Fenris’ mind still seems a million miles away. This revelation about his sister is big news; it’s likely to keep him occupied until he gets his response. Until now, there was nothing to prove Hadriana had even told the truth about Fenris’ sister. Now his entire understanding of family hangs on a woman neither of them knows. Whatever Varania says could make or break him. Hawke thinks he’ll need to build him up before the letter arrives, just in case. Varric is throwing some sort of Halloween party in a few weeks, so maybe that will be a chance to remind Fenris that he has another family here in London, one that will never cast him aside.

As if sensing Hawke’s thoughts, Fenris squeezes his hand and slows to a stop. They step to the side of the walkway and face one another.

“I, ah…” Fenris holds his free hand palm up like it holds his words. It curls into a loose fist, then tugs at the collar of his sweater. “Thank you.” He swallows. “For supporting me.” The words come out strained, like too many emotions are trying to rush out through them. “I don’t say that enough. You’re the single most important thing that’s ever happened to me.” Even with his downcast eyes, Hawke can see sincerity in his expression.

The admission leaves Hawke a little breathless and his chest tight. This isn’t the first time Fenris has unloaded his heavy emotions. For all his struggles expressing himself, Fenris makes a point of regularly reminding him he is loved and wanted. Still, it always his heart race to hear the words. He knows how much Fenris fights to get them out, and he cherishes each of them.

“That’s quite the confession, Fenris,” he says and plants a kiss on Fenris’ forehead. “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you wondering, yes premature white hair is a thing. It can hit you in your 20s! Given Fenris’ life up until this point, I’d say it’s fairly reasonable for him to end up with it, assuming one of his parents had it too. I’m sure Danarius liked it. It really finishes off that “little wolf” look.


	2. [Mini Chapter] Little Skeleton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris get ready for Varric's Halloween party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for the fact that I wrote a couple chapters in the wrong order and now need to fill in the missing stuff, I'm tossing in this mini chapter. I wrote it on [Tumblr](http://aurenfaiewrites.tumblr.com/post/131180700999/hawke-gently-convincing-fenris-to-dress-up-as-a) as a response to [this adorable piece of art by fenrispls](http://fenrispls.tumblr.com/post/131164648969/hawke-gently-convincing-fenris-to-dress-up-as-a). It was actually that tiny fic that made me want to write this AU, so it still fits.

“I got something for you.”

Fenris looks up from his spot half buried in books and empty personal size bags of chips. There’s also an entirely empty party sized bottle of Cola on its side by his feet. His white hair is a mess, too short to actually tangle, but it sticks up in every direction. He stares with pursed lips and dark bags under his eyes. It’s been another long day, it seems. 

Hawke shakes the plastic bag dangling from his fingers. “Aren’t you going to guess what–”

“Is it puppy?” Fenris cuts in. His eyes flicker to Hawke’s hand, and he arches a brow.

“I…” Hawke looks at the bag, then back to Fenris. It’s simple grocery bag, milky white and partly transparent. “No, Fenris. It’s not a puppy. A puppy can’t even–” It occurs to him that Fenris is making a joke at his expense. He’d picked up a few strays when they first got together, and then another last week. The only one that stayed in their tiny house was a massive mastiff Hawke spitefully named Carver, much to his brother's chagrin. 

He sighs and holds out the bag to Fenris. “It’s a costume.”

“Ah.” Fenris dips his hand into the bag and pulls out the plastic encased spandex jumpsuit. It is black with poorly printed white bones all over. The white ink seems to have bled into the fabric, making it inconsistent and cheap looking. “It’s ugly. Is it a sex thing?”

Hawke probably should have seen that question coming. Only Fenris could be this difficult while accepting a gift. 

“It’s not.” It’s probably the least sexy costume he’s ever seen in his life. “Varric’s got that Halloween party coming up, remember?” 

Fenris hums in response and examines both sides of the package. 

Hawke does his best not to laugh when Fenris pulls the costume from its casing and starts to pull it on over his leggings. It’s clearly a few sizes too big, not a surprise considering Hawke doesn’t recall actually looking at the sizes when he grabbed it from the shelf. When it sags around his hips, Fenris tosses his sweater (or rather, Hawke’s sweater he’s taken ownership of over the years) onto the mess around him and pulls it up over his shoulders. Fully covered, he stands. The costume is ill fitting at best; it hangs off his shoulders and the crotch droops near his knees. The bones are nowhere near accurate, something that Anders would likely have something to say about.

“This is horrible,” Fenris says and wiggles his toes, making the tiny bones there dance. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and tugs a the loose fabric until it hangs at least somewhat straight on him. “I like it.” 

That’s all he says before setting back into his mess of books. Hawke thinks he should probably tell him to take off the costume first, but he thinks Fenris in the oversized costume is probably the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. My own little library skeleton, he thinks as he snaps a picture with his phone. 

When they turn in for bed that night and Fenris is still in the costume, he regrets it a little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My [Travial](http://archiveofourown.org/series/327785) series might be translated into Russian, so keep an eye out for that if you're a Russian speaker!


	3. Fast Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris learns how to drive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh hey, another chapter. I have the next two almost ready to go, so expect those shortly.
> 
> Again, thanks to [unwizard](http://archiveofourown.org/users/unwizard) for beta-ing for me!

_I am the best boyfriend ever_ , Hawke tells himself after picking Fenris up from work for an impromptu driving lesson.

Fenris’ office is in the suburbs close enough by that he usually walks or catches a bus. Even though Hawke rides the Tube most days, he owns a car so that he can drive to the other side of the city to see his family and friends. Fenris was never given the opportunity to learn to drive in his youth, not that he'd need to anywhere he lived, but he had expressed some interest in learning.

Garrett thinks it makes a good date.

Garrett also does not take into consideration that most of the driving Fenris has seen took place in Italy, and is therefore beyond dangerous and terrifying.

At first, Fenris is a quick study and handles the car with uncommon confidence. After a quick tour around an empty neighborhood, Hawke instructs Fenris out onto a two lane street. This almost immediately proves to be a mistake. They drift between lanes and onto the wrong side of the road. When they meet an oncoming car, they swerve so sharply into the correct lane that they nearly hit a parked car on the side of the road.

He would sincerely regret the decision to let Fenris behind the wheel as they careen the wrong way down a one way street were it not for the look of absolute delight (or as close as one will ever see) on Fenris's face. He may be breaking laws and scaring Garrett half to death, but he's having fun doing it.

For such a new driver, Fenris has a remarkable number of bad habits. He has yet to touch the blinker, despite Hawke's many suggestions. He both speeds and drives far under the limit. He has yet to acknowledge that there may be other vehicles on the road and narrowly avoids hitting one when he changes lanes without so much as glancing in his mirrors. It's only good luck and the surprising absence of other cars that keeps them from getting into an accident.

Hawke only just manages to catch Fenris hand before he takes up honking.

"Why don't I take us a bit further into the countryside? Then you don't have to worry about other cars."

Fenris gives him a puzzled look, as though other cars had not yet crossed his mind. Cutting off any argument, Garrett opens his door and rushes over to the other side to let Fenris out.

Their drive out into the country is quiet and peaceful. No one almost dies, there are no near collisions, no honking, no speeding, nothing dangerous at all.

Then they pulls off to the side, with miles of cottages stretched out before them and not another car on the road. Fenris takes the driver’s seat again, and they speed off.

The initial take off is terrifying. Farms and cottages rush by at alarming speed. Then they shoot under cracks in the clouds and the sky slowly opens into warm light. Confident Fenris has nothing to hit, Hawke turns his attention to the stereo. 80s music fills the car and he hums along with a familiar tune. With no distractions. Fenris drives straight and manages to stay in his lane. Sure they’re speeding, but at least they don’t have anything to hit.

Fenris rolls down his window and wind whips through his hair. It pulls at his bangs and drags them back to reveal the usually hidden tattooed dots on his forehead.

Watching him from the passenger seat, Hawke thinks it would be all too easy to continue driving and never come back. They could leave everything behind, all the worries of their lives, Varania, work, their posts, and start up somewhere new. For one shining moment it all seems that simple.

Back when he met Fenris, it could have been that simple. They were young, with nothing holding them down.

Fenris had just arrived in the country and tagged along with Isabela to their pub get-together. While quiet and angry, his deep voice drew Garrett in. He’d dumbly asked if Fenris was African then, because his accent sounded like that of a South African man he’d met at one of his many jobs. Aveline punched him in the shoulder then and told him he couldn’t ask that before anything else. After his initial blunder, they’d hit it off talking about travel and friends and nothing at all.

Fenris smiled wide enough to show teeth when Hawke told stupid jokes. He laughed and let Garrett flirt with him. When the night was drawing to a close and Fenris excused himself to the toilet, Isabela pulled Garrett aside demanded to know his secret.

“Fenris doesn’t _connect_ with people,” she’d said. “He humors them and then he leaves.”

He left for home that evening with a phone number scrawled on the back of his hand and plans to meet Fenris again for drinks and a football match. He later found out that Fenris cared little for sports.

A lot had changed since then. Things had gotten complicated.

They’d started dating not long after that first night, then broken up only weeks before their first year anniversary. Fenris couldn’t give him what he needed, or so Fenris had said then. They went their separate ways. Fenris slept with Isabela, and then Anders. Neither of them turned into relationships. That was probably for the best, given that Anders still has a teeth shaped scar on his hand from when he accidentally stepped on one of Fenris’ trigger points. He stayed away from their group of friends as much as possible, feeling he didn’t belong there without Garrett. Hawke met Merrill. Once his heart started to mend, he developed a small crush on her, only to realize they weren’t compatible. She stuck around and started to make the group seem whole again. He got a job in physical therapy and that stuck too. Hawke adopted a dog and named it Carver. His brother didn’t speak to him for months.

Another year passed.

Fenris started coming around to parties and pub get togethers again. He had picked up a new job at an anti human-trafficking organization doing translations. He felt he had something to offer again, not just for Hawke, but for himself. One night at the pub, Hawke stepped out for a smoke and Fenris followed. They started over and never looked back.

Now things are complicated again. Not between them, but with everything attached to them. They have a house together, a bank account, a dog. He likes having those things, but he’s not used to being so tied down.

Fenris has a sister again. Garrett wants to run away before Varania can demand Fenris back. But then he’d steal Fenris’ chance to know himself again, to know his family and who he was before everything went so wrong.

He sighs and slumps back in his seat. Fenris gives him a questioning look and slows the car.

“Pull over,” Hawke instructs and forces a smile. He doesn’t want to think about all the ways their lives may take a turn for the worse.

Fenris hits the brakes and they both lurch forward in their seats. He eases up and slows the car more gradually to a stop on the side of the road. Almost as soon as they stop, Hawke leans over the center console and brushes his fingers over Fenris’ cheek. Fenris leans in, expecting a kiss, but Garrett leaps out of the parked car and waves him over through the window.

With a sigh, Fenris unbuckles his seatbelt and rounds the car to Garrett.

“You’re not going to vomit, are you?”

Hawke laughs and shakes his head. “I was just thinking...well, it’s a lot easier to do this out here, don’t you think?” He hooks his finger into Fenris’ belt loop and tugs him closer. “We’re out here all alone. That’s kind of romantic. Maybe romantic enough for…” He brushes his lips against Fenris’, who chuckles and turns his head away.

“You had me drive all the way out here for this?” They’ve known each other for too long, and Fenris isn’t buying that Hawke had him pull over so suddenly for a kiss. Still, he’s not going to turn down this opportunity. Fenris rocks up onto the tips of his toes and hooks his arm around Garrett’s neck. “Maybe it is a little romantic.”

In the last light of day, they kiss. Hawke’s back presses up against the car with Fenris leaning heavily into him. Slender fingers tickle up the back of Garrett’s neck and tangle into his hair. His throat catches in a laugh. It’s ridiculous how relieved he is to be here with Fenris now. He’s grounded by chapped lips and a gently probing tongue. Nevermind that they’re in public. There’s no one to stop them here.

When they part, Hawke offers his goofiest grin.

“How about I drive us home and we order Chinese?”

“Chinese sounds perfect,” Fenris says and gives him one last peck.


	4. The Party I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric's Halloween party. Part 1 of 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit's going down.
> 
> I upped the rating to be safe, but also because at some point this fic will feature mature content.

Halloween might not have been a big holiday in England when Hawke was growing up, but it certainly is now. He’s not sure what the rest of the country does on this night, but most of his friends gather at Varric’s every year for drinking, candy, and bad horror movies.

Varric’s loft is big enough to house a full bar and several televisions, which play a series of movies no one fully watches. He strings up cobwebs and fake mutilated bodies (Hawke assumes he has help; Varric is only just over 5 foot and couldn’t possibly reach any of it himself). He buys tequila in skull bottles from the United States and literal crates full of American candy. Every form of terrible pumpkin beer fills a cooler by the balcony door. The loft  is decorated in horrible shades of orange and black, with bats and moons and monsters in every corner.

The event seems a little childish for grown adults, but they’re all inevitably plastered by the end of the night, so no one is in any state of mind to complain.

As is the standard, everyone dresses in cheap premade costumes except Merrill. She’s gone all out this year and seems to be some sort of wet ghoul horse-woman, a Kelpie as she later explains. Despite the costume being far from sexy, she’s won Carver’s attention.

Hawke’s little brother had decided to come as Batman the second he heard Merrill would be attending. “He’s got muscles and weapons! Plus...bats. Merrill likes bats, doesn’t she? That seems like something she’d like.” Yes, it would seem Carver has it bad. In attempting to woo the tiny woman, he’s become much more agreeable.

True to form, Merrill does approve of Carver’s costume, and she proceeds to tell him all about the different sorts of bats and what they eat. Carver demonstrates a sort of patience never shown with anyone else, and listens with a grin.

“I didn’t know Daisy knew that much about bats,” Varric laughs while mixing tequila into ginger beer and lime juice. “I didn’t even know there was so much to know about bats.”

“If anyone would know something like that, it would be Merrill.” Isabela dips her finger into Varric’s drink and licks it clean. “Make mine with rum.”

“A _rum_ mule?”

Isabela shrugs and adjusts the short skirt on her pirate costume. Her outfit borders on obscene, with slits so high up the thighs that her underwear shows and her breasts barely stuffed into the tight top. It’s obvious that she’s not wearing a bra. Beside her, Varric plays on his own height in a dwarf costume. “Grumpy,” as he’d dubbed himself, in a red tunic and hemp knit cap.

“He’s been into Merrill since the first time I brought her to pub night,” Hawke mumbles and opens a pumpkin beer. Its artificial spice rushes his nose and he cringes, but takes a sip anyway. When he checks the label, he finds a major brand and laments their failed brew. “I’m just glad he waited until I figured out she wasn’t interested.” He scratches the back of his head and watches his brother help Merrill adjust the moss strewn over her hair. “You think she’s into him?”

“This is Daisy we’re talking about.” Varric hands him a pumpkin frosted cookie. “We probably won’t know until they’re engaged.”

“Can you imagine what their children would look like?” Isabela elbows him and waggles her brows.

“Please don’t encourage him! Carver’s just a kid, he’s still in uni!” Garrett nearly wails. “You know who would have to take care of their kid? _Me_. Me and Fenris. Fenris and I. Merrill would probably try to raise it on some weird pagan diet and Carver is useless with kids.”

Isabela coos. “You and Fenris would make great parents.”

“Not listening not listening not listening!” Hawke chants and rushes away. They’re too young to worry about kids. They’ve only been living together for a few months!

Varric’s warm laugh booms out behind him.

* * *

 

Fenris provides some solace. Tucked into his now familiar skeleton costume, sweater discarded and hanging over the back of the loveseat in the lounge, he nurses his second glass of wine.

Fenris chats with Donnic and Sebastian, dressed as a squire and...himself respectively. They’re an odd group, and the only ones of their friends Fenris will actively seek out. Hawke is never quite sure what they talk about or do together, given that they have almost nothing in common between them. Sebastian doesn’t drink, Fenris doesn’t follow sports, and Hawke is pretty sure Donnic was raised Orthodox or something. None of them is particularly chatty. They have varying degrees of acceptance for what the group gets up to, have differing opinions on just about everything and have very different temperaments. Whatever it is they do, Garrett is glad that Fenris has his own circle of friends.

“Isabela wants us to have kids,” he announces and slips an arm around Fenris’ waist.

“No,” comes Fenris immediate reply, cutting off Sebastian’s look of delight.

“That’s what I said! We’re still young and handsome. Can you imagine what having a kid would do to our sex li--” Fenris’ fingers dig into his side, effectively cutting him short.

“No. And you’re definitely not getting anything dressed like that.”

Hawke looks down at his costume--an overly tight number with green leggings and a red leotard with a belt and stylized R printed on it. A black cape and eye mask finish off the entirely ridiculous look. That it has foam abs in the belly should make him at least a little sexy, he tells himself. “Carver likes it.”

“Carver does not like it!” Carver shouts from across the room. He’s holding a pile of moss and grey sheets. Apparently Merrill has run off to the loo, and Carver, being the gentleman, holds her things.

“Carver secretly likes it,” Garrett whispers.

* * *

 

Anders comes bursting into the loft not long after. Still dressed in his scrubs, the only indication that he’s here for the party is a pair of cat ears attached to a headband tucked into his long hair. He’s a frazzled mess from work and is all too happy to help himself to the bar.

If his drinking strikes anyone as odd, no one says a thing about it. They all know he doesn’t usually drink, but a few drinks in themselves, they don’t stop to consider why this is.

With his quick pace, Anders is drunk in no time. He flings himself at anyone and everyone, crawling onto Isabela’s lap when she drags him to the sofa with a joke about “the good old days.” He practically purrs when Merrill appears beside Isabela and touches his headband. When he spots Fenris, he climbs onto him too and asks if they might rekindle. He rolls around on the ground for a good few minutes when Fenris tosses him off his lap.

Hawke watches this all with amazement. He’s a few drinks in himself and finds the entire thing hilarious. It occurs to him that he’s never seen Anders this way, though he quickly dismisses this. Anders works long hours at the clinic, and he deserves the chance to let loose once in awhile.

And Anders really lets loose.

His laughter can be heard from all corners of the loft. Everyone in the room receives an overly affectionate hug, and some a kiss on the cheek. He tells jokes that make no sense in English, and when no one understands he retells them in Danish. He coos at Merrill and Carver until Carver turns beat red and excuses himself to fetch drinks. Isabela delights in it all and encourages him to dance and drink more.

“This is what he was like when I first met him. So lively!” Isabela purrs, arm around Anders’ waist and casually attempting to pull him into her cleavage. Anders goes willingly and pats her breast with reverence. “How did you get so grumpy, sweet thing?”

“Long hours and lots of pills,” Anders intones with false seriousness, then flings himself away to bother Varric.

Not long after, Garrett has to pull him off of the coffee table. He drags him outside to cool his head. Inside, the party continues. Laughter booms out through the cracked door. Anders watches through the balcony window with a wide smile stretched across his lips.

Hawke nudges his shoulder and offers over a cigarette. Anders ducks in and accepts it with his lips and a smirk. When Isabela mentioned that Anders was a flirt as a young man, Garrett had hardly been able to believe it. Now watching him take every opportunity to touch and tease, Hawke’s mind is firmly changed.

With a dumb look, he lights the cigarette and watches as Anders inhales and exhales smoke with drooped lids. Anders practically breathes sex.

 _Shit_ , Hawke thinks. He scrambles to light his own cigarette just for something to distract him.

“Garrett,” Anders murmurs in a husky voice.

That’s the beginning of the end. As if drawn together by supernatural forces, they inch closer and closer together. Anders dances his fingers up Hawke’s arm. Hawke wets his lips and rests his hand and cigarette on the balcony railing.

Numb, he leans in as Anders draws smoke into his lungs. _Fenris_ , his mind buzzes. _Fenris_!

His lips part and Anders exhales a plume of smoke into him. His lids flutter. The smoke fills him, leaves him lightheaded and wanting more.

Then they’re kissing. Hot mouths meet, a clumsy mess of tongues and teeth. Drunk hands grope at anything they can reach. Their smokes continue burning unattended between their fingers. Someone moans, Hawke’s not sure who. Every inch of Anders is hot and needy. He drags his fingers into Hawke’s messy hair and tugs. Nips against his lips follow.

 ** _Fenris_**! His mind shouts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My bad.


	5. The Party II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric's Halloween party continued. Part II of II.

The first sign that the evening would take a turn for the worst was that everyone was drunk. Everyone, including Varric, who drinks like a horse but somehow manages to be the most sober person in the room, and Anders, who almost entirely abstains from alcohol due to complications with his medication. The former might be an indication of an exciting party, the latter should have been a warning sign for them all.

Being that they are all healthily intoxicated, no one thinks much of it. Everyone was generally charmed by Anders, in cat ears and his usual scrubs, throwing himself into Isabela’s lap and kissing her on the cheek. They were (mostly) even more amused when Anders falls off of Isabela’s lap and tries to straddle Fenris, who pushed him to the floor.

This was almost an hour ago, and things have calmed down since. Nursing yet another glass of wine, Fenris is beyond buzzed. He lounges beside Isabela, his arm above her shoulders along the back of the loveseat. Aveline is alone in a chesterfield chair across from them, Donnic having vanished into the kitchen with Varric in search of more mixers.

As is her way, Aveline has her arms crossed over her chest and glares at Isabela.

“If they’re... _crotchless_ , they’re not knickers and I won’t wear them.”

“It’s for access!” Isabela gestures obscenely toward her crotch. “After the wedding, you’re going to get busy. Why waste the time trying to get naked when you’re ready to go?” Her hand runs up Fenris’ leg and is pried away before it can do any harm. “Fenris knows what I’m talking about.”

“I’ve not seen them for men, so no, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t spend enough time in [De Wallen](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/De_Wallen) then. You lived in Amsterdam for almost three years!” Isabela swats Fenris’ chest. “How could you not visit at least a few times?”

Aveline opens her mouth to cut in, knowing the conversation is about to take a dark turn, but Fenris shakes his head.

“Because at least some of those women aren’t there by choice.”

Isabela eyes turn sharp and her gaze flickers away.

"There are regulations for that kind of thing. Why do you always act like Amsterdam was some cesspool of sin?" She presses into his side. Her mind is years away, to the days when it was just her and Fenris wandering the city, drinking, and fucking in the tiny apartment they sometimes shared. They'd never been dating, not when Isabela ducked in and out of town without warning, and not when Fenris was still reeling from his daring escape from slavery. Under her careful guidance in the progressive city, Fenris came out a free man with only a few hang ups about his own sexuality and morality. That he left his old life with no worse concerns about homosexuality than that Danarius had somehow _made him_ bisexual was actually something of a victory.

"Everything with you is a cesspool of sin," Fenris says with warmth in his voice. Amsterdam was a mess in many ways, but he does have his fair share of fond memories.

“Who would have thought you’d turn into such a charmer?” Isabela tips her crooked pirate hat back and plants a kiss on his cheek. A matte mauve stain is left behind. “Now if only we could teach Aveline.”

“You’re not doing anything to me,” Aveline snaps at her, then looks to Fenris and softens. “Why don’t you tell us more about Varania instead?”

Isabela groans and stands, straightening her short skirt down over her ass. “You’re no fun at all, Big Girl. I’m getting a drink. Anyone else want another?” Fenris lifts his finger and Aveline scowls. “A glass of wine and a bottle of rum it is.”

Aveline shakes her head and takes Isabela’s seat. The cheap plastic of her knight costume bends when she sits, and she wrestles it into place. Fenris’s arm drops back into his lap and he folds a leg up onto the couch. “I do want to hear about your sister,” she says and unhooks the plastic gauntlets. “Hawke only said that she was real and alive. Are you planning to see her?”

“I hadn’t thought of it,” Fenris admits with a frown. “I don’t know much about her. It’s surprising that anyone found her.” So surprising, in fact, that he’s not sure he believes it. He has no way to confirm her identity, and he’s not sure Hadriana could either. This woman could be anyone, and who knows what she wants? Best case scenario, it is his sister and he proves an eternal disappointment when he can’t remember her. Worst, she’s a scam artist or works for Danarius. “Depending on what she says...I’ll think about it.”

Aveline looks pensive for a moment. “I don’t suppose Cassandra and Leliana could look into her? I know they’re not based in the area, but surely they have Interpol contacts around?”

“They’ll send Zevran again.”

“Zevran was…” She stalls and her lip curls. “At least he’s clever.”

“Clever enough to invite a _ménage à trois_ , right?” Isabela returns to the lounge swinging a bottle of rum and a bottle of red wine in each hand. Her expression is oddly pinched, but she forces a smile as he hands Fenris the wine and takes to the arm chair. She folds her legs and then unfolds them, then takes a deep breath. “I’ve just seen something interesting.”

Fenris refills his empty glass and sets the bottle on the coffee table. “Does Carver still have his shirt on?”

“That would be interesting,” pipes in Aveline. “Maybe he’s learned that Merrill doesn’t care about that sort of thing.”

“As unlikely as that is, that’s not what I saw.” She purses her lips. The expression looks unnatural on her usually flippant and flirty face. She manages no words, but instead turns her hand upward and points toward the balcony.

Leaning forward, Fenris and Aveline catch the same view at the same time. It’s Garrett and Anders on the balcony, cigarettes burning unattended in their fingers. Smoke wraps around them, mixed with condensation in the cold air. More importantly, they seem to be kissing.

“Ah,” Fenris says.

“ _Shit_ ,” Aveline says.

Looking uncomfortable, Isabela takes a swig straight from the rum bottle. This is normally when she’d make a joke or find a convenient excuse to leave, but nothing comes. For the moment, she regrets introducing Fenris and Hawke. As much as she teases and taunts, she has no desire to see Fenris’ heart broken over the relationship she initiated. “I suppose it could be a misunderstanding. But judging by the hands…”

A pale, mannish hand slams into her knee and Aveline shoots her a warning look.

“Well,” Fenris starts around the rim of his glass, then slumps back into his seat. His friends hang on the edge of their seats waiting for him to continue, but he seems to be distracted by his drink.

“I’ll take care of it,” Aveline growls. Her face is twisted and red in fury on behalf of Fenris. She’s known Garrett for longer than they’ve lived in London. It’s hard for her to believe that he would do something so stupid and cruel, but that won’t stop her from making things right. Alcohol or not, Hawke has no business treating Fenris this way. She starts to stand, but Fenris places a hand on her knee and she stills. “You can’t really be alright with this?”

He sets his glass aside and folds a hand in front of his lips. “I...don’t know.”

“You didn’t agree to any of this, did you?”

“No.”

Isabela is silent for once, still watching the balcony. She looks like she wants to say something serious, perhaps offer to kick someone’s ass as well. Rum gives her answers to her own dilemma. “You don’t have to let him get away with it just because he’s Hawke. Or because...”

Of all of their friends, Isabela best understands Fenris’ mentality. She’d known him when he was still a slave in his own head, and she’d seen his slow journey to understanding ownership. It’s of little surprise that the concept of jealousy hasn’t come up before. Garrett is very doting and dedicated, and hasn’t so much as looked at anyone else since they got back together. Fenris on the other hand, doesn’t understand that he can feel possessive of him without it being a throwback of slavery. Even if he has many of the social skills necessary to function in society, without a frame of reference, things like this are confusing for him.

She tries again. “You are allowed to be jealous. Are you?”

The look Aveline gives her can best be described as murderous. For anyone else, the question would be condescending. For Fenris, it’s a suggestion.

“I slept with Anders too,” he murmurs, looking numbly downward.

“That was five years ago. And you weren’t even dating then!” Aveline is far less patient with Fenris’ lack of reaction. She doesn’t understand it.

His brows furrow. He supposes he does feel hurt. They’ve been together almost as long as Aveline and Donnic. They’ve endured hardships and fights, seen the best and worst of each other. He’d thought...well, he’s not sure what he thought. Certainly marriage isn’t on his mind, but they _live together_ now. He doesn’t want to lose that.

Yet looking at Garrett and Anders on the balcony, he doesn’t feel he’s being deprived of anything. Aveline and Isabela are expecting his notoriously bad temper to come rearing up, but he’s drunk and still content despite current events.

So he does the only rational thing he can think of and kicks the wine bottle clean off the coffee table. It flies past the door to the balcony and bursts against the wall by the kitchen. Blood red over the hardwood. The sound is enough to startle Varric and Donnic out of the kitchen. Merrill and Carver come rushing out of whatever dark corner they’d been hiding in (and indeed, Carver seems to have lost the top half of his Batman costume).

“Shit!” Varric swears when he sees the mess. “Everyone alright?” Donnic retreats back into the kitchen to retrieve a cleaning rag.

Just then Garrett and Anders come crashing in from the balcony looking a flustered mess. The door behind them hangs open and a cold breeze takes the room. Fenris stands before he can bring himself to look at either of them. He’s starting to feel upset, yes, but not jealous. Not angry the way Aveline expects of him. What is he supposed to make of that?

“I’m going home,” he announces and pulls his black and white skeleton ribcage sweater over the cheap fabric of his costume. There’s a bitter taste in his mouth when he remembers Hawke coming home with the costume bag, and a matching festive sweater the next day. Aveline was right, he isn’t alright with this. Not with Garrett assuming this was fine, and certainly not with his grudging friendship with Anders being taken advantage of. He’d lived long enough without his needs considered, he isn’t about to back to that.

Hawke seems to snap out of his flustered state and rushes closer, only to be stopped by Fenris’ dark expression.

“You.” A dark slender finger jabs at him. “You can stay with _Anders_.”

A look of horrified realization spreads between both Hawke and Anders. The rest of the room shifts their gaze. Anders seems to melt under the attention, his buzzed confidence melting away.

“I’m going home,” Fenris repeats and disappears out the door, leaving a stunned audience behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, it will get better!
> 
>  
> 
> Probably.  
> **WILL UPDATE AFTER NOVEMBER!**

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on my writing Tumblr at [aurenfaiewrites](http://aurenfaiewrites.tumblr.com/), or at my personal Tumblr [here](http://realvsable.tumblr.com/).


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